


A Tin Box of Nostalgia

by TheNightwingBegins



Series: We Need More Britchell Arc [2]
Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Anders is Less of a Potty mouth, I Am Filled With Weird Ideas, M/M, Mitchell is happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightwingBegins/pseuds/TheNightwingBegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders doesn't do Nostalgia.</p><p>Thankfully Mitchell has a Tin-full of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tin Box of Nostalgia

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty, second part to the 'We Need More Britchell' Arc. Hooray?
> 
>  
> 
> Well, I had to do research in this one, so if there's wrong, tell me so I can TRY to fix it.
> 
>  
> 
> I own nothing but... Well the writing.

\----  
\---  
\--  
Nostalgia. The word didn't mean much to Anders. He didn't any when he thought back on the women he used to fuck. He only, strangely, felt it when it snowed.  
So when the God of Poetry saw Mitchell looking through a beat up tin box with a small smile on the couch, he had to investigate.

"Hey there babe, What’cha looking at?" Mitchell turned to look at Anders, wetting his lips.

"Nothing much, just looking at some things I've collected over the years.' The 122 year old pulled Anders to sit with him. "Here, take a look."  
Quickly Mitchell started shuffling through the box, taking this and that out, small knick knacks, photos and pictures and some other little things. The curly haired man picked out a photo and gave it to Anders.

"Here, this one's of my Mum." The paper that the photo was printed on was yellowing, with fold lines practically everywhere, but still in surprisingly good shape.  
In the photo was a thin woman and child - a boy- which was probably Mitchell.  
Even the picture old and worn, The Norse God could see the woman was beautiful.  
She had round dark eyes, a slight neck, and hair tied up in a no-nonsense bun. Mitchell’s Mother had a shapely nose and pretty heart shaped lips to top it off. 

It seemed Mitchell got most of his Mothers looks, Anders absent-mindedly thought.

"Wow, Your Mom's hot." Mitchell slapped the Blond playfully.

"Hey! That's my Mum you’re talking about." The curly man retorted. Anders shrugged, indifferent.

The Poetry God rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, Show me something else." The vampire nodded, and took out a necklace with dog tags dangling off it. The tags were ever slightly worn in places, but well taken care of.

Mitchell grinned happily. “Ah, look at these old things. I remember when I got them. My Mum started crying when I showed her them. She said that she was so proud of me.”

“Whatever. Here, let me choose something.” And the flaxen haired man started idly looking at each of the things spread out on the coffee table. Not that, not that, definitely not that, aha! And quickly Anders picked up a ticket stump in between his forefinger and thumb. Like the rest of the things that resided in that tin box. It was crumpled, but still in fairly good shape. The words on the stump were smudged, but still legible:

Un voyage à la Lune:  
Un film de Georges Méliès.

“Hey, does this say?” The God Of Poetry asked. Mitchell scooted closer to read the words, and when it came to him his eyes lit up.

“Oh, it says ‘A Trip to the Moon: A Film by Georges Méliès.’ When I younger me and my Mum went to see it in France. Don’t ask how we got to France, about 70% of the trip was illegal travelling.” The vampire plucked the ticket out of Anders hand, placing the stump back into the tin box. And for the next few hours they looked at the small- yet amazingly precious- things that were tucked for years in that tin box. 

In those few hours Anders had mentally picked out a couple of items that were his favourites, which included a jewellery piece that used to be Mitchell’s Mothers engagement ring (a simple golden band, Mitchell fondly said his Mother used to call it her ‘One Ring.’), An old condom container (“Why did I keep that again…?”), and a signed autograph from The Beatles. (“I had to sneak past four crowds of Guards and Fans to get backstage, I was gonna get thrown out, but I pleaded to get an autograph first. John Lennon said I was a brave bastard, getting past all the Birds.”) By the time they were done milling through the things, it was 5:47, Anders was supposed to be at work an hour ago. Dammit.  
The 122 year old frowned at the clock, and turned his gaze on Anders.

“Maybe you should get to work…” Mitchell Muttered.

“Maybe you shouldn't have dragged me into looking at old things.” The Poetry God retorted.

“Maybe. But it’s too late for that. Get to work. Or Dawn will have your head.”

“ I'm already an hour late, I’ll just stay-“

“Nope. Go.”

“But-“

“Go.”

“Fine. Sometimes I wonder why we’re dating…”

“It’s because you love me.”

“It is. Isn't it.” Mused the blonde, getting up from the couch to get ready for work.

**Author's Note:**

> Eh, It kinda got rushed by the ending, but its 2 in the morning here. What can a girl do?


End file.
